Snapping Shots Between Heartbeats
by Flywoman Returns
Summary: When it's getting dark and you need slow shutter speeds, that's what you do. You try to click the shutter between your heartbeats, because your pulse bumps your whole body and shakes the camera. Series of drabbles  6X16 "Black Hole" to 7X23 "Moving On" .


**Spoilers:** Potentially spoilery speculation for the season 7 finale

**Author's Note:** Big thanks to blackmare_9 for the title and summary as well as for helpful concrit along with that of nightdog_barks, readingrat, and barefootpuddles.

* * *

><p><em>First Time<em>

"I like what this says about you, Wilson."

"Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring" fills the high, bright space of the loft's living room, surrounding him with waves of shimmering sound. He closes his eyes, fingers flowing over the keyboard with unerring confidence, as the harmonies reverberate in the marrow of his bones. Wilson will be back home soon, and there's a dish of thyme-scented lamb and root vegetables braising in the oven and a new episode of _Desperate Housewives_ on tv tonight.

For the first time since the infarction, he dares to hope that everything is going to be okay.

* * *

><p><em>Second Chance<em>

"If you're gonna be an ass, be an ass."

He'd broken the news quickly, bluntly, afraid of chickening out.

He can't believe that he, of all people, was fooled by the lack of visible reaction. He knows now that it was shock, not indifference and certainly not acceptance, that had kept his friend's features carefully blank.

Sam moans, wrapping his arm more securely around her softness, and presses back insistently against him. But even as he moves inside her, brushing his lips against the back of her neck and fondling her again-familiar breasts, all he can see is House's face.

* * *

><p><em>Three's Company<em>

"You were thinking about Wilson while we were having sex? That's so cool! So was I."

He says it because she's given him an opening he can't resist, but more importantly because it's imperative that he inform her right away, in no uncertain terms, that Wilson was in his life before this – whatever _this_ turns out to be – and will be here after. Besides, sooner or later, the harpy gnawing on Wilson's tender flesh will spit him out again, and House will have to console Wilson in his own way.

He has no idea when, exactly, that stops being true.

* * *

><p><em>Fourth Down<em>

"I've come to realize that I love you even more than I thought I did."

In retrospect, maybe it wasn't the greatest possible opener. And in addition untrue, since he had already purchased the ring before reviewing her files. But he certainly had no reason to expect such a violent reaction.

Wilson takes another long sip of Scotch and rubs his free hand roughly over his face. He wonders whether this fight can possibly be all House's fault for concurring with his conclusions.

Then he recalls the flicker of genuine panic on her face when he suggested she get pregnant.

* * *

><p><em>Fifth Wheel<em>

"Good… because he's coming to my birthday dinner."

Anyone with half a brain could have predicted that this would not end well. House has been on his best behavior all evening, but there's only so much he can stomach.

What on earth had possessed Wilson to go along with Cuddy's cunning plan to force his best friend to share a meal with her mother? And why is he here now, blatantly egging the old bitch on instead of at least pretending to be House's wingman?

He stirs the coffee one last time before carrying it carefully into the dining room.

* * *

><p><em>Day Six<em>

"You just need to give me a little more time."

He hasn't gone out once since the challenge, with House or anyone else. After he's fed Sarah and administered her shot, it's simpler just to stay home.

Wilson knows that House doesn't give a crap about his sex life, except inasmuch as it interferes with their… whatever it is they have, or had. Anyway, he already has companionship enough. Sarah nestles against his chest, her soft white fur tickling his chin, a raspy purr thrumming through her body. He strokes her absently, wondering why his life feels emptier than ever.

* * *

><p><em>Seventh Heaven<em>

"Do not screw this up."

Deep down, House knows that Wilson is right. At some point he is just going to have to face his fear and be the man that she needs him to be.

But he can't do it alone.

House clenches the pill in his palm, breathing deeply, feeling the sweat break out on his brow. At last he tips his head back, closes his eyes, and swallows. For a moment he's lost in a heady rush, flying high like Icarus before the fall. Then he steadies himself and squares his shoulders to enter Cuddy's recovery room.

* * *

><p><em>Eight Seconds<em>

"_Cannonball!"_

His hands are trembling too hard to drive.

Those were the longest eight seconds of his life, and since he's spent twenty years of it watching his best friend recover from bullet wounds, electric shock, and drug-induced respiratory arrest, that's saying something. For those eight seconds Wilson forgot to breathe, and the dizziness he felt when he saw House's head emerge triumphantly from the water was only partially due to relief.

House was drunk, he was high, he was staring seven stories down into a faceless crowd.

But he'd smiled. No way he hadn't recognized Wilson. No fucking way.

* * *

><p><em>Nine Lives<em>

"You're a lot of things, House, but you've never been a sadist."

He can tell that Wilson doesn't believe he'll go through with it, right up until the moment that he does. Cuddy, on the other hand, has already left the room. He watches Wilson head after her, briefly imagines the two of them attempting to console each other on his bed – or in it.

He's hurt Cuddy at least as much as he meant to, but the way he's disappointed Wilson is much, much worse. And yet it still won't be enough to break them.

Somehow it never is.

* * *

><p><em>Tentative Steps<em>

"Take care of him."

He's hardly in the hospital for Cuddy's last few days since most of the time he's over at her place, helping her pack, or keeping Rachel entertained so that she isn't underfoot. The need to appear cheerful, certain, and supportive allows him to hide his own hurt, doubt, and fear even from himself.

But once he's seen her off, there's no avoiding it any longer. He feels almost overwhelmed by so many new responsibilities. Not to mention one old one.

House sticks his head in the doorway of the office of the Dean of Medicine. "Lunch?"


End file.
